After The Mistletoe
by MajorSam
Summary: Wyatt still couldn't quite believe it was real, that Lucy was finally his. First in the "Time after Time" Series, chronicling Lyatt's journey from the mistletoe scene in the finale, through 2023, and beyond! The possibilities are endless ;)


**After the Mistletoe  
** **By: MajorSam**

 **Author's Notes:** Takes place IMMEDIATELY after the mistletoe scene in Lyatt's room in the finale.

* * *

Wyatt still couldn't quite believe it was real, that Lucy was finally his.

 _His_.

Somehow this beautiful, brilliant, brave, miracle of a woman had fallen in love with him and, despite his seemingly endless ability to screw things up, had still chosen him. Still wanted to spend her future with him. If he was honest with himself, he couldn't quite handle thinking about the future just yet. All he could focus on was the present.

 _Making up for lost time._

He finally got to touch her like he wanted, hold her like he wanted, kiss her like he wanted, and he wasn't going to waste a second of it. He kissed her with everything he had, guiding her up so her head lay on the pillow of their two-cots-become-one bed. She made a little noise against his lips, her hand running up and down his arm while the other kept his head close to hers. He gave an answering noise, his hand leaving her neck to trail down her thick sweater to where bare skin began. He didn't quite understand the stocky, classic sweater being paired with the short dress/nightgown thing and the drawn-up socks, but he didn't care. She looked absolutely stunning to him. In fact, it was refreshing, amazing even, to see Lucy as herself, relaxed and in her own clothes, hair all messy, instead of dressed up in costume and pretending to be somebody else. She was just Lucy. His Lucy.

He squeezed her thigh, trailing his hand down to her knee then back up again under the hem of her dress. She whimpered against him, lips insistent against his. He let his fingers graze against the hem of her underwear, testing, and she rolled her hips up into him in response. He chuckled against her and she laughed back, nipping at his bottom lip. He groaned and kissed her deeper, pushing her down into the mattress as he slipped his other hand up her dress, thumbs hooking into her underwear and pulling it down. It tangled around her stockinged feet for a second, an adorable frown gracing her face until she finally kicked the offending item free. She bracketed him with her legs once more and reached for the bottom of his t-shirt. He let her pull it off him then run her hands down his chest before he left her lips for her neck. He laid a few, hot kisses down her throat before grabbing her thighs and simultaneously pushing her further up the bed while scooting himself down it. He gathered the edge of her dress and boldly pushed it up to her waist, grinning widely. She couldn't help but laugh, squirming slightly in a sudden bout of self-consciousness but also in anticipation. He made a show of smacking his lips and running his tongue along them. She couldn't stop grinning, so in awe of this new, beautiful, playful side of him she'd been seeing all day. With a final waggle of his eyebrows he dove down, no teasing, no fake-out, zeroing straight in on her core.

Her eyes slammed shut, a hand flew to his head, as he ran his tongue up the length of her, from bottom to top, delving deep between her folds.

"Wyatt…" she breathed, and he swore his mouth watered just from the sound of her voice.

He concentrated hard, trying to recall every little thing she'd liked their morning in Hollywood, everything that made her writhe and twist and grind her hips against him. It seemed he remembered well, for her legs wrapped around his ribcage, sock-clad feet digging into his shoulder blades. The unique sensation of cotton and pressure made him thrust shallowly against the bed, moaning against her when his denim-confined arousal made itself known. She clutched at his hair, his moan sending vibrations straight through her core and up her spine. She arched against the bed and he opened his mouth ever wider, devouring every inch of her, licking and rubbing and sucking every nerve he could find. In no time at all she was tensing around him, thighs shaking, and gorgeous little whimpers escaping her lips. He took his time easing her down, lapping up everything she had to give before laying kisses to her inner thighs, running his hands soothingly along the rest of the bare expanse of her legs. She hummed and rustled his hair.

With a smug grin he rose up, pulling her dress back down as he leaned over her.

"Can… can I kiss you?" he asked. Jessica had hated kissing him after he'd gone down on her. Lucy had seemed to be okay with it in Hollywood, but that was so long ago, and maybe it had been an in-the-moment thing.

Lucy nodded with a soft, satisfied smile. He leaned down to comply but while she eagerly kissed him, he found his mind wandering. He'd only been with Lucy once before. Well, a few times, but over the course of one night. One night fueled by danger, and wonder, and cocktails and music. She'd told him she loved him, had loved him all along, and it was everything he'd ever dreamed of hearing her say, but the confession came in the middle of a warzone, freezing and exhausted, after she'd thought he'd died. Even now, it was like they were in a bubble, high on victory, entranced by the magic of Christmas. Was any of this real? Would it, could it, last?

Lucy's hands wandered all over him, down his bare back, squeezing his ass, and slipping under the top of his jeans. His body shuddered against his will. He could feel her grin against him, running her tongue along his bottom lip as her hands converged at his zipper. She got the jeans open and down his hips relatively easily, but there were a few moments of awkward shuffling before they were successfully off and thrown to the side. He quickly tugged his socks off as well, Lucy waiting patiently, smiling at him all the while. The moment he was done, though, she pounced on him, sitting up to wrap her arms around him and pull him back on top of her, seemingly unable to stop kissing him. Making up for lost time indeed. Her hands toyed with the elastic top of his boxers, his body straining for her, but he found himself tensing, freezing up.

Was this really it? After all they'd been through over the last few years – all the chaos and danger and wonder and heartbreak and madness – had they really won? He was a military man. When one mission ended, the next always began. Guys like him didn't get happy endings. They didn't get the girl. Certainly not girls like Lucy Preston. What the hell was he even thinking? She had a freaking doctorate and was a professor. He'd barely graduated high school. She grew up in a big house with nice clothes and good food. He came from a tiny hick town in the middle of nowhere with an alcoholic, abusive father and barely enough money to scrape by. He'd married the one girl who'd paid him any mind in high school and had royally screwed it up at every turn, contrary to the bizarre fantasy he'd made it out to be after she'd died. How could he possibly think he deserved this life, this future that Lucy seemed to want with him? How could he be good enough for her?

He'd just screw it up, like he always did. He already had. Lucy seemed to have forgiven him for it all, for now, but she was in a league so beyond him he couldn't even compare. She'd realize that soon. Sure, they'd known each other for a while, and had been through a lot, but it had all been for work. It had always been about the mission, living in the bunker in their strange, insulated world. She didn't know him in real life, in the day-to-day, in the normal drudgery of life. He knew she would be amazing. She'd go back to teaching and be brilliant and self-sufficient and inspirational… and clumsy, and messy, and a disaster in the kitchen. She'd be perfect.

But him?

He pulled away from her, shaking his head, his hands coming to her hips to hold her at bay. She frowned up at him, hands rising to try to bracket his face, but he deflected them.

"Wyatt?" she asked. Her voice was small, her brows drawn. He turned his head, unable to look at her. He dropped back into a kneel, his hands limp at his sides, and his shoulders dropped in defeat.

He couldn't do this.

* * *

Lucy could literally see the light go out in his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat, fear blossomed in her chest and spread cold tendrils through her veins.

"Wyatt?" she tried again, shifting back and sitting up. He just shook his head, still refusing to look at her. "Did I do something wrong?"

That got his attention. For a moment his blue eyes pierced through her, his look of shock and disbelief palpable. "You?" he whispered hoarsely. "No, of course not. You could never… no. You're perfect."

"Then what's going on?" she kept her voice soft, reaching out slowly. He let her touch his knee, though his body jerked at the touch like he'd been shocked. His face screwed up, frowning fiercely, lips a thin, hard line. His fists were clenched, knuckles almost white. She stayed silent, her hand a still, but constant, warmth on his knee. She matched her breathing to his.

She had an idea of what was happening. It was everything she'd feared would, and far sooner than she'd anticipated. Wyatt was a noble man with a deep sense of duty. He tried to give off an air of being just a dumb soldier, following orders, a pawn in the grand game, but it was all bullshit in her opinion. He was the most honourable man she knew, but also the one with the most deep-seated self-doubt she'd ever seen. He'd never really talked to her directly about his past, but she knew enough to see where it all came from. His harsh upbringing, his awful father, the hard life of the army, the mess that was his relationship with Jessica.

But didn't he see how that made him _more_ extraordinary? He'd had life spit on him at every turn and yet had still grown into a strong, loyal, beautiful person. He spoke four languages, was a brilliant tactician, and had earned his place in one of the world's most elite military units. He'd been able to keep a nerdy engineer and a clumsy historian alive, and thriving, throughout history, while facing off against and _beating_ a generations-long evil cult. And more than all of that, he had a heart that was capable of so much love it took her breath away. He just wanted to do what was right, not matter the cost to himself. Sure, she'd been caught up in the crossfire of that conviction, but that was over. In the past. She'd meant every word she'd said in North Korea and every word since. He was the most incredible man she'd ever met and she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

She'd forgiven him his perceived mistakes, but he was still struggling to forgive himself. Why couldn't he just believe her? She wasn't naive enough to think their problems could be solved with a conversation or two, but he'd seemed so happy, almost giddy, even, since they'd been back. She had hoped the bubble wouldn't burst so soon, but no matter what, she was determined be there, for him, with him, till the end. It was their story, their history, and learning to live with it and all its consequences would be a part of their future.

That future started now.

So, she waited, patient and present, as his face gradually loosened, his fingers breaking free of their self-inflicted prison. She kept her breathing slow, letting herself just be there for him. When he finally lifted his eyes to meet hers again…

Her heart broke.

Their normally mesmerizing blue was hazy, clouded with unshed tears, and filled with doubt.

Vulnerable.

Lost.

His mouth worked open and closed, trying to speak, but then he just shook his head, unable to form the words. He bowed his head, and his shoulders started to shake. Without a thought she surged forward, wrapping her arms around him. A guttural sound escaped him, his body rocking into hers, head burying itself into her neck as he caved into her embrace. She hugged him as hard as she could, her eyes burning as she felt wetness against her neck, her own tears finally dripping down her cheeks to meet his. Lucy didn't know how long she held him. It didn't matter. If he needed this from her, she'd stay this way forever. She ran a hand gently through his hair, over and over, every so often trailing down to softly squeeze the back of his neck. When his arms finally slackened, his nose snuffling, only then did she loosen her hold on him. She carefully pulled back, ready to hug him again if need be. When his hands fell to loosely grasp her hips, she brought hers to clutch his face.

For a moment she was back at the Alamo, convincing him his life was worth saving.

"Wyatt," she breathed, intently, but soft. "I… I'm pretty sure I know what you're thinking right now. And I get it. Kind of. I know everything's been rather intense, and now that everything's changed… it's gonna take a while to adjust."

He tried to move his head away but she tightened her grip, not letting him. "But I'm going to be here to adjust with you. Through all of it. Whatever happens tomorrow, next week, next year. When I was in doubt, afraid of the journal, and what I might become, you were the one who always told me I had a choice. I could choose the future I wanted to create." She stroked her thumbs across his cheeks, down the stubble on his jaw.

"I choose _you_ , Wyatt. _You_ are my future."

He shook his head lightly, like he still couldn't believe it. She sighed, not in defeat, but in resolve. They would both need to work on their communication, on voicing all the words in their heads and hearts. But for now, all that she could do was try to show him, letting her actions speak louder than her words.

She leaned forward and kissed him, soft and sweet. He remained immobile, unresponsive, but she was undeterred. She kept kissing him, short and light. After a minute she trailed down to his chin, peppering little kisses up the line of his jaw, across his cheek, to the middle of his forehead. She paused there, rested her forehead against his and breathed deeply as her hands cradled his head. Just as she was about to pull away, he tensed, his hands moving to her waist. She sucked in a breath and held it, waiting. He leaned away from her and she let him look at her, eyes wide open, honest, laying bare everything she felt and hoped desperately that he understood. He still frowned, deeply, but took a deep breath, and kissed her.

He was trying. He was with her, and he was trying. It was all she could ask for in that moment.

She kissed him back, gently, letting him set the pace. If he wanted to just kiss her all night, she'd let him, and be happy for it. It was so much more than she could've hoped for just two days earlier. Two days ago, she'd thought she was his second choice.

Like she always was.

Her mother hadn't chosen her. Her father hadn't chosen her. Wyatt hadn't chosen her.

But, apparently, he had. The two missions had been a whirlwind, but her emotional realizations, her choices, her resolve – it couldn't be stronger.

The strength of her conviction seeped into her kiss, lips instinctively pressing harder against his and for a moment she feared she'd pushed to far. But then he squeezed her waist and his tongue peeked out to touch her bottom lip. She opened her mouth to him, accepting him inside, tangling her tongue against his in a caress she hoped conveyed what she felt for him. His arms wrapped around her and he leaned forward, tipping her backwards to lay on the bed once more. Her heart exalted, almost dizzy with relief. She willed her body to remain calm, however, to stay slow and let him lead. To be there for him.

A hand slipped behind her neck, holding her to him as he deepened the kiss even further. She felt like he was searching her soul, reaching for something. She threaded both hands through his hair, gripping the soft strands and keeping him as close as he could possibly be. She was getting light-headed, lack of oxygen and the intense thudding of her heart threatening to overwhelm her when he finally let up, rising on his elbows to look down at her.

"Lucy…"

She gazed up at him, open, hopeful.

"I love you," he breathed, his voice strained.

Her mouth parted, sucking in a shaky breath.

"I love you so much…" His eyes misted up again, face crumpling.

She lunged up, claiming his mouth again, hard. The hand behind her neck tightened, while his other suddenly landed on her thigh. A shiver ran from the point of contact up her side and along her neck, right up into her brain, breaking like a firework at the top and sending cascades of sensation across her nerves. He shifted above her, his body sensing the change in hers. The hand on her neck slipped lower to tuck inside the collar of the sweater she was still wearing. The hand on her thigh moved up along her other side, both hands then working in unison to pull aside the edges of the knitted piece. She rose up so that he could pull the sleeves from her shoulders, over her hands, tossing the item aside. He then sat back and gently picked up one of her feet, tugging at the plain, black sock. She almost laughed at the intent look on his face, the focus with which he attended to the task. But she didn't. She couldn't break the spell. That focus was for _her_ , and she knew what it would be used for next. With her feet now bare, he wasted no time grabbing the hem of her dress. She lifted her arms above her head and he slipped it off with ease, leaving her bare before him.

Up on his knees he paused, looking down at her with wonder and awe. She'd never had anyone look at her like that before. Not even close. She raised a hand to him. He took it, fitting his fingers between hers and raising it above her head, resting her arm on the pillow as his body fell onto hers. Her free hand clutched at his neck as he kissed her, hard, deep, solid. Of their own volition her hips rocked up into his and his body shuddered. H withdrew his hand from her neck to quickly throw off his boxers. He steadied himself above her, so close, but once again waited.

"I love you," he repeated.

She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes welling as another wave of emotion washed over her heart. She nodded, shakily. "I love you too."

And with that he pushed into her, slow, careful, but steady, until there was no space left between them, no way of knowing where one ended and the other began. Lucy's eyes fell shut as they moved their arms to wrap around each other. They held one another as tight as they possibly could, chest to chest, hearts beating out to each other.

Then he began to move.

It was neither slow nor fast. It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, unlike anything he'd ever felt. It was the culmination of years worth of pent-up emotions. The spark of their first meeting, the irritation, the battle of wills, the ever-growing trust, admiration, respect, lust, love, and loss. It was the closing of the loop, the acceptance and forgiveness, the letting go of the past.

It was the opening of a new door. The beginning of their future.

Together.

 **The End**

* * *

Well goodness me… that was a bit heavy, wasn't it? They were so gorgeous and giddy and adorable after the mistletoe… but for some reason this is what I saw coming. The last 15 minutes of the finale were such glorious, insane, fan-fiction fluff come to life… but you KNOW there was a lot of fall-out in there that had to have happened. These two still have so much to work through… I hope you were on board for this emotional journey.

Don't worry… the giddy honeymoon phase comes back in the next one 😉

Please let me know your thoughts and opinions on all of this. Do you think it was accurate to the characters? Do you think it could have happened then, after the mistletoe? Or a little while later? Why? How? I'm just so fascinated with the journey these two went through in the finale/beyond and love to hear everyone else's ideas!


End file.
